Le Phantom Zi Opera
by IamTheRaven
Summary: The PJO characters set to the stage in a haunting yet familiar tale. Dark, Romantic, and an Alternate Universe. Percabeth, Rated T.


Le Phantom Zi Opera

The PJO characters set to the stage in a familiar, yet haunting tale. AU. Dark, twisted, and romantic.

(AN: Some things shall be different. Duh. Otherwise it would be boring. For those of you who haven't seen the Phantom of the Opera...enjoy the ride. It should be even more interesting for you. Godly parentage should not be considered. Remember that it is an alternate universe, and I am combining character personalities from the two stories.

Oh, and this first chapter isn't even finished. I will update later but there will still be only one chapter, with just more on the end. I don't even think I want to finish this. Let me know if you want me to. I am debating.)

In a little town of Normandy, there lay a church with a very high steeple. On the figure of the cross was Jesus himself, cast in a silver mold, so perfectly crafted that when the moon was directly overhead, it would reflect its light far into the dark night.

But tonight was no such night; though the moon was high and full, the clouds blocked its rays. A fierce storm was blowing, with gale force winds and heavy rain.

Just south of the town, a young girl slept in the upstairs room of a cottage. Though she was young, the thunder did not frighten her. In fact, she had fallen asleep, the rain soothing her instead if scaring her.

But downstairs was a different matter.

There was no light in the room. Only the occasional flash of lighting would illuminate the study, where the two men were seated.

One sat neatly at his desk, with his hands folded.

The other sat with his head in one hand, covering half of his face.

There was no sound but the thunder and rain for ever so long; naught but nature could be heard.

The study was a fashionable one, one of beauty and grace. A bust of Pallas sat just above the door, and mahogany shelves graced the walls, stocked with books of old and tomes from the past. The chairs were lined with dark purple velvet, and the lamp, though made of the finest glass, had strangly gone dim.

Finally, after a prolonged silence, the professor whispered,

"Tell me, good man. Tell me how you came to be this way."

The disheveled figure looked up strangly at the professor's gaze, and though it was dark, he could see the curiousity in the other man's eyes.

As the drip-drop of rain pattered on the pavement, the figure creeped closer to the professor's desk. He leaned on it for support, his head hung in grief.

"I've committed no mortal sin. My sin is of my birth, the curse is of my face," he said darkly.

The professor hesitated, then questioned again, afraid of the answer.

"Then tell me, thou Angel. How did you come to be this way?"

The gaunt figure leaned forward, slowly, and whispered in the man's ear, and just as he spoke, a lightning bolt bigger than all ever seen or heard of in those parts before struck the steeple, shattering the church's windows into a thousand tiny shards and setting the structure on fire.

The sound was lost to the storm, the secret of the Phantom forever lost, never to be heard again.

A look of shock possessed the professor's face, disbelief in his soul.

The figure just turned away, perhaps from shame or perhaps from deep bitterness, bitterness at his fate to which he was cursed, a fate of darkness, horror, death, and injustice.

There was silence for a while, as the rain began to fade.

Finally, the professor staggered, stunned, to a drawer cabinet behind his desk, and shakily fished out a white mask he had crafted.

"Here...take this from me...a gift of which you would never condone," he said, barely above a whisper.

But the angel had ears sharper than any mortal. He turned around, slowly, and reached out with his bony fingers to grasp the mask held out before him.

He seemed surprised.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

The professor only muttered,

"It's celestial bronze."

"I know that."

He stared in wonder at the heavenly mask, from whose birthplace he was banned. For though he had committed no mortal sin, the sins of his face kept him from the heavens.

He placed the mask, painted white, over one side of his face, and stared into the eyes of the professor.

Already the fear seemed less in his eyes.

The masked man turned in his long, black cape, and sighed.

"So be it. An eye for an eye. A gift of heaven you have bestowed upon me; therefore, you shall recieve a gift of supernatural power in return."

The rain still hadn't quite gone, though its force was fading.

He seemed to fill up the room with his being as he reached from within his cape, and with a gnarly hand produced a small metal item.

He laid it upon the professor's desk, who stared at it curiously.

It was a small silver music box, engraved finely and already wound.

He opened the lid, and there came a very soft, but very, very, eerie tone.

The professor, with chills down his spine, looked up to thank the figure, though he was unsure of the purpose of his gift, but when he tilted his head, the man was gone.

He had dissapeared, as if he was never there.

Gone, like a ghost.

Had it not been for the box, still silently plaing its haunting tune, the Professor would have thought he was naught but a Phantom of the night.

...

Young Viscount Percy Raoul Jackson laughed as he threw a straw of hay at his playmate, the young Annabeth Christine Chase.

She huffed and sat with her arms crossed, ribbons all a mess and her dress scuffed up.

She was only a young girl of six, with an incredible talent that was beyond belief.

"Percy, stop! That's not funny!" she moaned.

He only giggled.

"You're funny, Annabeth."

She blew her hair out of her face, annoyed.

"Papa is going to be so mad. I haven't practiced today! I haven't listened to the music box. He'll be angry."

Percy stopped laughing.

The Chases frequently left their summer home to travel all around France, Germany, and Austria, because Annabeth had an incredible gift.

Ever since the music box had come into their home, the little girl had become blessed with amazing musical talents. Though her father was but a lowly inventor, they together had become famous. She played violin around the state, and huge crowds would amass to see her play and sing with her sweet little voice.

Viscount Percy Jackson had been her playmate since she was born. He loved her voice and was enchanted with it, though most of the other little children did not appreciate her voice like he did.

"Why do you keep talking about this music box?" he asked innocently.

Annabeth toed the ground nervously with her foot.

"I'm not supposed to tell," she muttered.

Percy huffed.

"Aw, c'mon Christine, you never will tell me what it is! But you always keep talking about it."

Annabeth sighed.

"You promise you won't tell?" she whispered. Percy nodded his head anxiously.

She looked around, as if to see whether someone was listening, and said,

"It's a gift, from the Angel of Music."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Huh?" he asked.

"The Angel of Music," she said.

"The one papa tells me about every night. He keeps me safe, and watches over me. He gave me my beautiful voice."

Percy gasped.

"Really?An Angel actually gave it to you?"

She nodded, happy that he was impressed.

"Tell me about it again," he demanded, getting excited. Christine didn't understand why Percy was so obsessed with the music box. Every time she brought it up, he asked her exactly how it looked, how it felt, how it sounded. He longed to see it for himself, but she strictly forbade it.

"Well, it's made of silver," she began.

"Uh huh," he replied. "Tell me about the pretty pictures again," he said.

"Well, it has a pretty rose carved on the top, with a bunch of tiny words on the side. It has four little legs, and on the inside is the velvet box, with a ring in it."

She didn't know the purpose of the ring.

She looked back and forth, making sure that there was no one listening and muttered silently to Percy,

"Ya know somethin?"

He shook his head.

"What?"

She smiled slightly.

"Sometimes, when Papa's gone and I'm all alone, I'll open the box and hear a voice sing, 'You are my Angel of Music.'"

Percy seemed confused.

"But I thought the Angel of Music gave it to you."

She shrugged.

"I don't get it either."


End file.
